The Ballad of Me and My Brew

So like
I've been evasive for a week or two
I've been throwing up my feelings, unabating blues
From the side of my bed
To an enemy that's too familiar

I'm coughing up pieces of last night's rage
Patching up a picture of my last mistake
Arguments beginning with you and my liver

But I'm not singing for your sympathy
Strangely, no, that's not what comforts me
And what I'm left instead, is the worrying most peculiar
That as poor life choices go, I'm living proof to ya

Now that Sunday's gone, hours of Monday on the clock
We're talking coffee shops with quaint little pots
So the feng shui doesn't get in the way
Of these filtered excuses poured out from my face

Now the percolated java is the lava of Vesuvius
"Sorry, catch you later, sorry, no, I can't do this"
You're upright, a tear in your eye
I thought spirits made the devil
But coffee fixed all his crimes

So I wonder
What's the point in a place like this
Why do we come here
When all we've got is this masochistic
Tendency to break publicly
And so our story goes, that's us exactly

And if you had been me too
Then you'd have done the same as me